


smooth company

by apaio



Series: all my energy [2]
Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Hot Space Era, M/M, Tender Sex, learning to communicate and sorting shit out x
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-04
Updated: 2019-02-04
Packaged: 2019-10-22 08:39:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17659463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apaio/pseuds/apaio
Summary: “He’s what I want,” John replies, frustration slipping into his voice. “What I’ve wanted for the longest time.”Freddie offers a sympathetic smile. “Then what’s the matter?”“I don’t have him,” he says simply.





	smooth company

**Author's Note:**

> wow i'm here again lmao.. anyway my last work got me thinking that like. getting together with someone at the tensest point in your relationship might not work out well so i ran with that and fixed it x
> 
> unbeta'd, let me know if there are any mistakes esp bc i wrote this in like a day

There’s less fighting between them in the studio. Things are going a lot faster on the album without the constant confrontation, and though he enjoys the music they’re creating, John can’t help but find himself thankful that’ll it’ll be over soon.

It’s difficult to pursue a relationship with someone you’re at the throat of week in, week out. It’s hardly even a relationship, John laments after a month or so of what can really just be considered fucking with feelings.

They have feelings for each other – he knows Brian does because that’s what he told him, and he knows he does because he’s been borderline in love with the stubborn guitarist for years – but despite their conversation, they haven’t even been on a date. John supposes that’s partly because they’re so busy, but they haven’t even been to each other’s rented apartments in the city.

When they do sleep together – in the biblical sense, as they’ve never even fucked in a bed – it’s quick, it’s dirty, it’s rough. They flush out their frustrations, and while John certainly enjoys it, as well as appreciating the respite from the hurtful arguments in the studio, it’s emotionally exhausting. He’s beginning to doubt Brian’s feelings, if this is all they’re doing. He doesn’t kiss him outside of a darkened equipment room.

But if it’s the best he’s going to get from Brian, he’ll take it.

They head back to London a few weeks later. There’s still some edits needed, and Fred has some stuff for the B-Side, but the album is more or less done. Leaving Munich doesn’t take as much weight off his shoulders as he thought it would.

He’s always been close to Freddie, and while he sometimes didn’t appreciate the overprotectiveness when he was younger, he finds his presence a comfort.

It’s late, and it’s just him and Freddie in the studio. They’re messing around with the overdubs, and neither Roger nor Brian stayed longer than they had to nowadays. They’ve been there for hours, and John finds himself wallowing in his own thoughts.

“John,” Freddie’s voice cuts through his clouded mind. “Are you alright?”

“Hm?” he intones eloquently.

“I thought it was just Munich, but-” he stops, abandoning the thought. “You look tired. Sad.”

John looks up and meets Freddie’s soft gaze. “I’m fine,” he lies.

Freddie offers him only sympathy. “Is it about Brian?”

“What?”

He smiles wryly. “Brian told Roger. And Roger’s very loose-lipped after enough drink,” he says. “Also, I do have eyes, darling.”

John feels his shoulders slump, any thoughts of denying it abandoned.

“It is, then,” Freddie asks.

“Yeah,” he replies weakly.

Freddie leans under the desk and pulls out a bottle of vodka. He takes John’s long-empty mug and pours him a generous measure. “Go on, then,” he says as he pushes the mug back in John’s direction.

“Fred-”

“Go on,” he emphasises. “And spill.”

John shots the vodka out of the mug, coughs at the taste of paint-stripper with a hint of tea.

He does spill. He tells Freddie everything, how it had all started, how Brian had told him he had feelings for him a few days later and briefly, everything had felt right. And then, how everything had felt wrong again, all their encounters remaining angered and lacking in any tenderness. How he feels lost and used and so bloody _exhausted_ by it all.

“What do you want?” Freddie asks mildly after he finishes.

“ _He’s_ what I want,” he replies, frustration slipping into his voice. “What I’ve wanted for the longest time.”

Freddie offers a sympathetic smile. “Then what’s the matter?”

“I don’t have him,” John says simply. “I mean, yeah, we…fuck,” he says, ignoring the heat in his face at it, “but that’s it. It doesn’t feel like a relationship; it feels like fucking.”

Freddie doesn’t speak, just watches him quietly as he expects him to continue.

“He said he has feelings for me, but we’ve been so busy with the album we haven’t even been on a date,” he says. It feels a bit childish. _We’ve never even fucked in a bed_ , he thinks, but doesn’t say. He puts his head in his hands. “And I’m in love with him.”

It’s hardly a revelation. He’s not ready to say it to Brian, but it’s true. It’s been true for a long time, even before all this started. John supposes it would have to be; he’s not sure his feelings ever could’ve emerged within their toughest era as a band.

Fred places his hand on his shoulder, and John leans into it. “You should speak to him.”

John huffs.

“Darling, you know Brian’s notoriously emotionally constipated,” it’s said in good humour, and John smiles despite himself. “He’s had feelings for you for a while. And he does love you. I don’t know if he’s in love with you quite yet, but I don’t doubt that he loves you.”

John feels Freddie squeeze his shoulder.

“We’ll finish the album this week. Speak to him when we’re done.”

John finds himself nodding, not entirely sure of where he’s going to pull the confidence from.

*

The final day – at least he hopes it to be – is filled with a sort of tired, tense energy. Brian’s shoulders hold a tautness, and John feels pre-emptively drained when he pulls him to the side before he leaves the studio.

“Can I have a word?” he asks softly, trying to convey that it’s not a hint for sex.

Brian doesn’t seem to realise, pulling him by the shoulder into the closest storage closet and pushing him against the door. He mouths at his neck, and John sighs before pushing him back.

“I mean actually _a word_ , this time, Brian,” he says, already feeling worn-out.

The other man stands up straight and takes a step back, shoving his hands in his pockets. He frowns, somewhere between frustration and concern. “Oh, uh, sure,” he fumbles. “What is it?”

John clenches and unclenches his jaw, unable to tell him the actual problem. Brian just watches him expectantly, and it doesn’t help. The silence forces him to speak. “Can I take you out tonight?” he says instead.

Brian looks surprised for a moment, and the tightness in shoulders seems to relax. “Oh, yeah,” he says. “Yeah,” he repeats more enthusiastically. “Of course.”

John watches a smile ghost his lips, and he instantly feels more at ease. “Okay, um. Pick you up at seven?” It’s two hours from now, and gives John ample time to find somewhere that’ll take a late booking.

“Great,” Brian replies. “I’ll see you then.”

He presses a soft kiss to John’s lips as he leaves the room, and John smiles briefly to the empty room, wondering if it wasn’t just Brian he had to blame for his dissatisfaction with their relationship.

*

Because he’s not thinking straight, John nearly calls a steakhouse before he remembers himself. He books at a nice Italian place in the end, insanely grateful that they were able to fit them in after a cancellation. He showers and gets dressed – tight black jeans, white shirt and a leather jacket – and rushes out of his flat and into the car, afraid of being late despite being possibly twenty minutes early.

He pulls up outside Brian’s building, and doesn’t even have to get out before Brian appears. John finds himself appreciating that out of all their band members, it was always them who were more inclined to be early than late. Brian’s dressed similarly to him, but his shirt is dark and unbuttoned much further than it probably should be, and he’s wearing an oversized blazer.

John impulsively undoes another button on his shirt when he sees Brian’s, then frowns at himself for the action. The passenger door opens.

“Hey,” Brian says, looking tired but happy. John feels much the same.

“Hey,” he replies as Brian sits down.

Brian looks at him. “You look, uh,” he pauses, like he’s not quite sure of the word, “nice.”

“You too,” he says quickly, then curses them both for being so awkward.

He fumbles with the radio as he drives off, wanting to fill the silence with something other than his voice, which he doesn’t quite have confidence in. He feels like a teenager on his first date. He skips quickly through the frequencies, not missing Brian’s pointed look when he skips a bass-heavy club track. He settles on a station currently playing _The Moody Blues_ and takes Brian’s lack of complaint as approval.

The drive probably takes about ten minutes, but it feels like fifty. He parks on the kerb a few yards away from the restaurant, and they get out. They walk together up the pavement, and when Brian doesn’t pull away when their fingers brush, John’s heart swells and he has to resist linking their hands. They weren’t close enough to Soho to be in with a chance of getting away with that.

“Deacon,” he says to the waiter who greets them, and they’re led to a table in the corner, slightly out of view from most of the restaurant. John asked for it specifically over the phone; he’s usually able to get away without getting recognised, but Brian, hair and all, tends to be less lucky.

They sit, and the menus are placed in front of them.

“Nice place,” Brian comments.

“We haven’t eaten yet,” John points out, regretting the snark in his voice immediately. He didn’t come here to fight.

Thankfully, Brian twitches a smile rather than taking offense. “Good point.”

They order, and John hopes Brian doesn’t notice how much wine he gulps down after it’s poured for him. He reminds himself that he’ll only be having one glass because he’s driving, and gives the now half-empty glass a dejected glance.

He wants to talk to Brian. He wants to do what Freddie told him, but he can’t find the words and just bounces his leg in anxiety. Brian watches him like he’s expecting him to speak. He flaps his mouth like a fish.

“Brian,” he starts, not really sure of where he’s going with it.

“Do you want to end this?” Brian asks abruptly, not sounding too emotional about it.

John’s gaze snaps to his face. For a moment he considers snapping, taking how Brian’s voice sounds as proof that he isn’t actually all that fussed about John. But he takes a good look at Brian’s expression and sees what looks like fear creep its way onto his face.

“No,” he says, and Brian seems to relax. “No, I don’t.”

“What’s the matter then?”

John takes a deep breath. _Now or never_ , he thinks. “Is this what you want?”

Brian frowns. “What?”

“A relationship. With me,” he says. “Is it what you want?” When Brian doesn’t answer immediately, he stumbles on. “B-Because this isn’t really a relationship, I don’t think.” He hates how unsure he sounds, and the more he dwells on it the more he thinks he might cry. “It’s just sex. All we do is fight and fuck. And if that’s what you want, then you can have that, but I just want to know-”

“John,” Brian says softly. “I do want a relationship. I really do."

They’re interrupted by their food being placed in front of them, but John isn’t particularly hungry anymore. He pokes at the risotto anyway.

“I _like_ you,” Brian says abruptly. “It was probably the worst time for it to happen,” Brian continues, and John can’t help but agree. “I guess it’s complicated. You annoyed me to no end, and some of the things you said and did really hurt. I’m sure…it was the same with what I said and did.”

John’s heart clenched painfully.

“But I don’t think I’d have realised it without it,” he finishes. “I want to give this a go.”

“Then why don’t you?” he asks, and it’s not even to be confrontational.

Brian doesn’t answer, like he isn’t sure what John’s asking.

“We don’t go out together, you don’t kiss me outside of sex, we haven’t even been in each other’s flats for ages,” John says. “If you do want this, then why haven’t you?”

“You could’ve asked, John,” Brian tells him.

He feels himself deflate. He’s not used to asking Brian for anything and actually receiving anything more than a conflict. “I didn’t know I could,” he replies.

Brian looks at him softly, shifts a hand forward across the table so he can brush his thumb against the side of John’s hand inconspicuously. “I’m sorry,” he says, and for the first time in months, he sounds like he means it.

“I’m sorry too,” John says.

“We’ll do better,” Brian amends, sitting up straighter and starting to eat his food more than the previous picking. “Tell me about yourself.”

John’s heard it on every first date he’s ever been on, and smiles despite himself. “You’ve known me for over a decade, Brian.”

The conversation eases up then, and they talk, they _talk_ for what feels like the first time. It’s personal and it’s easy and it’s _nice_ , and by the time they’re ready to leave, John feels like the weight of the world is off his shoulders.

When the bill comes, John pays, despite Brian’s insistence.

“Let me,” he says, sending a disapproving glance at Brian’s wallet.

“I’ll pay the tip then,” Brain replies, and does.

As John drives back to Brian’s flat, their conversation continues, and the ten minutes passes by in an instant. When he pulls up onto the kerb, Brian waits a minute to get out. Brian leans over and presses a gentle kiss to his lips. When they part, Brian’s eyes are dark, his pupils blown.

“Do you want to come upstairs?” he asks.

John wants to say no, wants to treat this like he would any other first date. He wants to go home, go to bed and regret not going in. He wants to be a gentleman about it.

His self-control was never that good.

He nods.

*

 

As soon as they’re in the door, Brian’s mouth is on his. It’s gentle, a contrast to the usual clash between them, and he finds himself led into the bedroom as if he’s in a haze. Brian shuts the bedroom door behind them.  

He turns around, and John begins to go to his knees, but he stops him. He pulls him back up, pushing him back so that he sits on the bed instead. Brian falls to his knees in front of him.

John realises Brian’s never done this before. It was always him. “You don’t have to-”

“I know,” he says. “Let me,” he echoes John earlier in the evening.

Brian undoes his fly, releases his already hard cock, and as soon as he touches him, John gasps and grasps at the sheets. He watches as Brian pumps him a couple of times, before looking slightly unsurely at John’s groin.

“Brian,” John says, goes to tell him that it’s okay, he doesn’t have to feel obliged to anything, but Brian takes him in his mouth before he can say anything.

It takes all of John’s willpower not to thrust into Brian’s mouth. It’s sloppy and clumsy and probably not the best blowjob he’s ever received in terms of technique, but as he softly loops a hand into Brian’s hair, more meant as a comfort than any level of control, he can’t say he’d ever want anything else.

It’s good, it’s more than good, and he can feel his climax building within him already.

“B-Brian,” he stumbles. “Wait.”

Brian pulls off. “Okay?” he says, his voice husky as opposed to hoarse.

“Yeah,” he replies shakily. “Don’t want to finish yet.”

Brian leans back, catching his breath. He looks a little unsure of what to do next. John leans forward to kiss him, hand cupping his jaw, pulling him onto the bed on top of him. He pushes them both up so that they’re further onto the bed, and Brian pulls at the waistband of his jeans. John lifts his hips in response, taking the hint, and Brian pulls his trousers off along with his briefs. John sits up on the bed and watches Brian remove his own jeans.

After a moment of hesitation, John pulls off his shirt. He flushes with embarrassment after he does, realising it’s the first time Brian’s seen him naked like this. He bundles the fabric in his hands as Brian stares, taking him in.

He isn’t sure what’s going to happen, but part of him is still anxious, up until the point Brian gets back onto the bed and kisses him, slowly and fondly, taking the shirt out of his hands and discarding it as he pushes him back so he’s lying down. The fabric of Brian’s shirt rustles against his bare skin, and he fiddles with its buttons, never parting their lips as he undoes them. They’re both hard, and grind into each other leisurely as they kiss.

They stay like that for a while, until John can’t take any more. He pulls away, and Brian makes some noise of indignation that John would probably find funny in any other situation.

“Lube?” John asks.

Brian leans backwards to open the door in the bedside table and John parts his legs. Brian takes the cue, kissing down John’s chest to sit between them. John hears the cap of the bottle open.

The lube is cold as Brian inserts a finger, and John flinches at it. Brian slows for second, waits for him to relax, before he continues. The thumb of his other hand rubs reassuring circles on his thigh. The second finger surprises him less, and as Brian pushes his hand flush against John’s body, he hooks his fingers. John groans involuntarily, fingers clenching at the sheets below him.

Brian pulls his hand back, and John nearly complains before the two fingers are replaced with three. It’s tight, and John feels himself strain a little. Brian fucks him with his fingers for a few moments slowly, and he soon finds himself gasping.

“Brian,” he forces out, “Brian, please.”

As soon as Brian pulls his fingers out he feels empty, and he watches Brian lube himself up through blurry eyes. He expects to be turned over then, how they always did it, but Brian pushes one of his legs back slowly, and John takes the cue and pulls the other back as far as he can.

Brian pushes into him relatively smoothly, and John immediately forgets the strain in his leg muscles as he does. Brian’s first thrusts are shallow and unsteady, like he’s over-thinking, and John brings a hand up to clasp the back of his neck and bring him in for a kiss.

Brian soon seems to stop thinking so much.

He fucks into him slowly, long and deep, with John’s face cradled gently in his hands as he tongues languidly into John’s mouth. The hand on his cock moves without hurry, yet not without energy, and he gasps against Brian’s mouth as Brian finds the right angle within him.

“Bri,” he huffs out, pulling away from the kiss to catch his breath.

Brian opens his eyes and looks at him like he’s something to be treasured, and he smiles softly, bringing a hand up to Brian’s face. Brian smiles back, warm and open, and John can’t help but think that it’s the most beautiful thing in the world. He kisses him again, briefly, before pressing their foreheads together as Brian rocks into him.

“John,” Brian says to him quietly, like a prayer.

It’s like nothing John’s ever felt, and his heart sings in his chest. He lets out a long moan before he can help himself, and it’s nothing like the desperate whines and breathless grunts they’ve shared before. He closes his eyes and throws his head back.

After a moment, Brian stills. He’s still buried inside him, but the absence of movement makes John open his eyes.

“Are you alright?” Brian asks him, this wonderful look of care in his eyes.

He’s confused for a beat, before he feels Brian’s thumbs brush tears off his cheeks. He feels a flush of humiliation, but then he just laughs, pressing a kiss to Brian’s cheek.

“I’m good,” he says. “I’m really good.”

He pushes gently against Brian, encouraging him to start again, which he does.

It doesn’t take him long after that. Brian’s strokes push deep within him, hitting the right spot every time, and soon he comes into the space between them, spilling over his own stomach as Brian continues to fuck him through his orgasm.

Brian hasn’t finished yet, and he seems hesitant to continue. John threads his fingers in hair and draws him in close so his forehead pressed against John’s shoulder.

“It’s okay,” he says, “come on.”

He continues, and John hums as he continues to send electricity up his spine as he does. Brian begins to speed up, and John knows he’s close. He feels Brian about to pull out, but he wraps his legs around him and pulls him back into him. He comes inside him with a groan.

With one final, chaste kiss, Brian pulls out of him and rolls onto the other side of the bed. They lay there for a couple of moments, before Brian takes a breath and stands. He offers John a hand up, and leads them to the bathroom to clean up.

Brian leaves him alone in the bathroom for a couple of minutes as he goes to change the sheets.

John catches sight of himself in the mirror. His lips are swollen, his skin is flushed and there are interrupted tear tracks on his cheeks. His hair curls messily. He’s fucked out, he thinks – he certainly feels it – but there’s a distinct sense of content within him.

He heads back into the bedroom, and Brian’s just replacing the duvet. John worries for a second that Brian might make him leave, but Brian just sits down on the bed and gives John a pointed look. John lies down next to him. They’re apart, and John aches because of it.

“Come here,” Brian murmurs, looping an arm around John’s shoulders.

John rolls over and lays his head on Brian’s chest, listening to the rhythm of his heart beneath his ribs. It lulls him closer and closer to sleep. “Good night, Bri,” he mumbles. _I love you_ , he thinks but doesn’t say, because he’s not quite ready for that yet.

“Good night,” he hears quietly from above him.

He feels a kiss pressed to the top of his head as he slowly drifts off.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading lol


End file.
